


Matte Finish, Infinite Shine

by Railyard_Ghosts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Prophecy (Final Fantasy XV), Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, IgNoct, M/M, Manicures & Pedicures, No Smut, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Railyard_Ghosts/pseuds/Railyard_Ghosts
Summary: Five years after Altissia and a lost war, everything is dwindling down from bad to awful. Their home is gone, Niflheim has dominated Eos, and the boys make their living as full time hunters. Very little remains of their former lives -- but they still have each other, and some old caretaking practices to fall back on when the rest of the world has gone to hell.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	Matte Finish, Infinite Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Covid has cancelled ALL OF MY HOBBIES forever, so I got obsessed with learning to do my nails instead. At the same time, I noticed a lot of fanart with Noct's nails painted black. Who painted them? Do you think Noct has the patience to do it himself? You think he'd sit still for a nail tech? If not him or a nail tech, then who?
> 
> Ignis, that's who. 
> 
> Things you need to know:  
> \+ It's 5 years later  
> \+ No prophecy; Lucis lost the war, and that was it  
> \+ M rating for the shower scene

"Hey Iggy?”

Nine days. Nine whole days of nonstop heavy rain and one major-minor crisis after another.

Propane for the gas grill was running low. At the same time, their food was dwindling and some expired in the cooler. Fish weren't biting at the pier, no matter what lures and baits Noct used; heavy rain meant foraging was practically impossible; and the last time Prompto and Gladio went hunting -- actual hunting, not monster-slaying -- they were both nearly overtaken by hungry voretooths, eager for not one, but the two easy meals that a garulette and two humans made. On their sullen return to the campsite, Gladio found Ignis and Noct in their own losing battle against a batch of MT assassins and rather than fight, they all ran instead. Eventually the MTs ran out of whatever they ran on and wandered off (or the rain destroyed them too) and when the quartet slunk back, they campsite was in ruins; coolers destroyed, grill knocked over and smashed, camp chairs broken and, perhaps worst of all, their tent slashed to ribbons.

Gladio was the only one not shaking in the rain as they gathered up what could be salvaged. Ignis wasn't sure if it was the cold soaking into their bones, the adrenaline rush of all four of them nearly being killed (again), or just pure anxiety that put the tremors under their skin, but as he picked up his grill and gathered the remains of his cooking utensils that they all needed some sort of break. And they needed it now.

They left everything. The Havens offered safety but not shelter and trying to piece everything together _while it was still pissing rain_ was not Ignis's idea of self-preservation, and while Gladio would keep his mouth shut, it would only make the other two complain louder.

The final straw came when they piled into the Regalia, clutching nothing more than their backpacks. Ignis noticed on the way that the hood to the gas tank wasn’t quite closed and bumped it with his hip in passing to fully close it. Yet, as the Regalia started, it … sputtered. Then died. And when he looked at the dash and the gauges and the blinkers and the controls and the indicators, he saw the gas gauge was on E.

Someone stole the gas out of the Regalia.

And never, ever in Ignis Scientia’s short 27 years of life did he want to scream as much as he did in that moment.

Something had mercy on them though; the closest motel was half a mile away and while the gas was gone, the thieves didn’t break into the cab, so their emergency cash was still hidden inside of the driver’s seat. Ignis cut the leather with a small knife, pulled out the fistful of gil, and bought them a room for the next five days because that’s how long it was going to take to restore his sanity.

Now, a full day later, all four men were clean and dry. Gladio and Prompto volunteered for laundry duty and took off with everything, and Ignis had been heavily contemplating taking another shower while they were gone. Four bodies meant short showers, but with only him remaining, he could take the longest, hottest, most flesh-melting shower he wanted and not feel guilty about it.

Instead, Noct was looking at him. Ignis didn’t need to see midnight grey puppy eyes to feel them, and he sounded so _uncertain,_ like he knew that whatever he was about to ask would be met with ‘no.’

(Truth be told, Ignis hated telling Noct ‘no’. He spent too many years telling him ‘no’ for one reason or another, and it still stung. Five years on the road, and it still hurt to tell his prince ‘no’. Gladio used to give him plenty of grief for it, but nowadays everything gave him grief in one form or another, so Gladio laid off while the world piled on.)

“Yes, Noct?”

“Can you do my nails?”

Ignis released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He used to do Noct’s nails all the time back in Crown City. It started in his own mid-teens when Noct split his thumbnail from quick to cuticle on a playground, and Regis stayed while it bled and Noct cried. A salonist was called in later and she showed Ignis how to patch and secure a split nail, and he overheard Regis grumbling to Clarus later about a “complete stranger taking care of my son”, to which Clarus offered reassurance that his wife had done the background check herself. As he listened, Ignis realized it was completely within reason that he took care of Noct’s appearance.

So he learned how to do nails, cut hair, give a good shave, and apply makeup so that Noct nor Regis would ever require a stranger again.

And now Noct was looking at him with that dim hope in his eyes, searching for something normal and old that they didn’t do anymore. And he was going to have to tell him no.

Ignis pushed off the back of the armchair and sighed as he leaned forward. He removed his glasses and rubed at his aching eyes.

“I’m sorry, Noct, I—I don’t know where the kit is.”

“I’ve got it.”

Ignis turned and he looked and by the gods, Noct sure did have the kit in his tired hands. He’d packed it with the rest of their things the day before they left Insomnia, anticipating that Noct would want his nails black for the wedding – and quietly, dismally hoping that maybe Luna would want hers done too. He’d afforded himself the daydream of painting her nails a pearly bridal white or shimmery pink, or a beautiful shade of blush – he would’ve painted the princess’s nails any color she wanted as long as he was the one allowed to do it. But now Luna was dead and gone, and manicures and UV lights and lacquers, polishes, finishes, charms, stickers and decals were things they couldn’t afford time or energy to do anymore. Even haircuts were out of necessity rather than pleasure.

Ignis spent a lot of time trying not to think about the wedding in general. It was years gone by now, smashed on the altar of the Tidemother and sunk to the bottom of the sea with Lunafreya’s body.

And Noct was waiting on him to answer with that hopeful look in his dark eyes.

He sighed, “I suppose,” then internally cringed at his own resigned voice. If Noct noticed or thought anything of it, he didn’t show or say it and went to the small coffee table in the room instead, placing the black leather bag on the surface and settling on the floor with his legs folded under him to wait. Ignis fetched two towels and a bowl of hot water from the motel bathroom and laid them out over the coffee table where Noct presented his hands, then he opened the first zipper on the black bag.

The tools were familiar. Small handheld things that were all Crown City made; a glass file, a travel size bottle of acetone, tiny wood picks, a nail cutter, cuticle cutter, vials of oil, and other assorted things that made manicures possible. Ignis shifted his long legs beneath him as he took the first of Noct’s two hands in his own and set to his task.

Noct was still as he watched. Rain pattered on the window, just as heavy and merciless as it was the day yesterday and the day before that and the day before _that._ Picking the dirt, oil and dried blood from under Noct’s nails kept the thoughts of stolen gas, crushed grills, and slashed tents at bay; clipping hangnails made his eyes ache less; filing off burrs and sharp, broken points made him a little less tired. Ignis left one of his prince’s hands to soak into the hot water as he switched to the other and repeated the process of picking, clipping, and filing a second time; he rubbed the oil into his fingertips, then applied the thin motel lotion to his hand and massaged all the way up to Noct’s elbow and tried – _tried –_ to squash that swell of pride and ego that reared back as a smile curved his prince’s lips.

Years ago, Ignis swore to himself he’d never act on the more honest feelings for Noctis. He loved him, yes, in _all_ the ways a person could love another; he loved him like a brother, he loved him like family. He loved him the way a servant loves his Lord, the way a Chamberlain loves his charge. He loved Noctis like a lover. He loved him enough that he tried to let him go and do what was right for Lucis.

He loved him enough to fight his way through waves and crumbling stone; enough to swim to the Altar and haul himself onto it; enough to recover his prince’s tired, broken body, then get on his knees and beg the Tenebraen prince for passage back to Lucis.

Now they sat together on the motel room floor, their lives and possessions in shambles, and Noct was smiling over an arm massage and nail polish.

Ignis changed to his other hand, rubbed in the oil, and rubbed his arm with cheap lotion.

He was slow when it came to the actual color. It was Noct’s favorite black, recommended by Prompto by some store in the mall years ago, and though it was cheap, it was the best Ignis had ever worked with – and hell, it _fit_ them so well. The glass bottle was skull-shaped and the company cheekily named it ‘The Line of Lucis’ without any regard to who would actually be wearing it. The brush inside was stiff and too long, which caused the bristles to bend and made it hard to spread at first, but it was a small price to pay when it was completely opaque in one coat. Most other brands and companies took two, three, sometimes even _four_ coats before they got anywhere near black enough.

(Ignis knew; different cosmetics companies sent boxes upon boxes upon _boxes_ of eyeliner, mascara, and black nail polish the moment the press published a photo of Noct wearing nail polish and eyeliner, and he tested them all, just to be certain they were using the best).

The brush brushed over Noct’s nail smoothly; the varnish settled, the ripples evening on their own. Noct leaned in to watch, still smiling slightly.

“Would you like a matte or shine finish?”

Ignis didn’t look up. If he looked up, his prince would be close enough to kiss. He might not be able to stop himself.

“Hmmmm,” Noct hummed, pressing his (kissable) lips together. “Both.”

Now Ignis found himself smiling. Leave it to Noct to passively issue such a challenge.

“As you wish.”

He held his prince’s hand delicately as he opened the bottles one-handed and left the matte bottle capped while taking up the shine finish. Ignis brushed it on, one careful stroke at a time, then switched to Noct’s other hand. It occurred to him that sometime between the start of the manicure and now that his head stopped hurting and the rain didn’t bother him as much.

He used a different, smaller brush for the matte finish, and dipped it carefully in the bottle. Noct leaned over even further, and Ignis allowed himself to grin, pulling his prince’s hand close.

“No peeking.”

“Specs, I’m right here,” his prince laughed.

“No peeking,” he said again.

Noct pouted (as he always would) and sat back in his own personal space again, thereby surrendering.

Ignis spread the matte finish over half each nail. As he finished one hand, he lowered it, and took the other and tried to squash the warm cloud that bloomed in his chest as Noct admired his finished hand. His prince’s smile was broad and toothy as he wiggled his fingers this way and that, the fluorescent light shining on half of each nail and absorbing on the other.

The things he would do for that smile.

Ignis blew on the other hand as he finished; now Noct held both up to the light and smiled ear to ear. He looked so different from the threadbare youth from an hour ago.

“Wow,” said his prince, “that looks so cool.”

“Glad to be of service.” Now Ignis felt himself smiling too. He admired Noct as Noct admired his painted nails, and set the tools down rather than put them away, resting his chin on one hand.

Years ago, he’d afforded himself a daydream in Cape Caem. In that daydream, they never went to Altissia; the Empire never came for them; there was no wedding, there were no gods, no Leviathan. Nothing existed beyond the house at the hidden harbor, and they were able to hunker down and live out their days there instead. Dustin and Monica taught Iris and Talcott how to cook and how to fight and they rotated who made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He would tend to the garden with Iris, and Gladio would bring home treasure from his forage in the woods and on the beach, and Noct would bring back fish from the seaside when he wasn’t goofing off with Prompto, and Prompto would immortalize the casual beauty of their lives in his camera.

It was a daydream quickly locked up and put away because there was no way he could have it. Five years ago, Noctis was destined to be married, treaty or no treaty. Five years later, his bride-to-be was dead and they were all that remained of Insomnia and Lucis.

Ignis wondered if they could afford that daydream now.

He smiled still as Noct turned to him.

“You know Prom’s gonna want his done when they get back,” teased his Prince.

“Oh, I’m well aware. That’s why I didn’t put anything away.” Ignis winked and Noct’s smile turned a little on the shy and clumsy side, his grey-blue eyes still admiring the half-shine of his manicure. Ignis considered him for an extra moment – his smile, the fall of his hair, the color of his skin – and when he spoke, he spoke with soft confidence. “Would you like to take a shower?”

“With you?” Noct’s head snapped back, hands still splayed, grin still wide. “Will you wash my hair?”

“Of course, highness.”

“Sure.” Those fingers waggled. “You’re gonna have to redo my nails if they peel off though.”

“I look forward to it.”

They rose, they stripped, and in the shower, Ignis did not hold to his reservations. In the shower, he combed his fingers into Noct’s soap-laden hair and dug his thumbs into his skull, rubbing the sensitive whorl of his crown and kneading the line of hair and skin at his forehead. Noct made sinful sounds of pleasure and sucked deep breaths through his teeth, groaning on the exhale and relaxing when Ignis kissed his shoulders.

Ignis loved his Prince. He held him close under the skin-melting spray and kissed his neck and ear, then kissed Noct when he turned his head and held him close when he turned his body and pressed them together. He rubbed the sore spot on his back, rubbed between his shoulders, and massaged his feet and legs while Noct sat in the built-in seat. He washed him from head to toe and helped rinse the cheap soap from his Prince’s skin, and they dried one another off when the hot water ran out and they stepped out of the stall. The bathroom was full of steam and cold air rushed in when the door opened, and Noct rushed out to dive into one of the beds without as much as putting on his pajamas. He held up the blankets in invitation and Ignis slid under with him. Before he could as much as shiver, his arms were full of sleepy, cuddly prince.

Noct tucked his wet head under Ignis’s chin and pressed his ear to his chest. The gentle _lub-lub_ of his advisor’s heartbeat echoed in his ear – comforting in its consistency – and the feel of warm skin pressed against his own comforted Ignis. Fine, deft fingertips played over the Prince’s back; they stroked the bumpy chain of his spine, followed the curve of his shoulderblades, and toyed with the dimples on the back of his pelvis. The room was as quiet as a temple, and Ignis let his eyes drift closed to revel in it.

On top of him, Noct shifted. Calloused fingers touched his jaw.

“Feel better?” asked his Prince.

Ignis hummed, pleased and thoughtful. “Yes, very much so. Thank you.”

“Good.” Noct wiggled again, twining their knees and ankles together. “Love you, Specs.”

“I love you too, Noct.”

He felt Noct smile on his chest. Thunder rumbled overhead, low and long and close.

Rain pissed down without mercy on Taelpar, but it was fine. Everything was fine. As long as his Prince was warm and safe … everything was fine.

Ignis wasn’t sure how much time passed when he woke to the sound of the heavy door and Prompto appeared in its opening, alone with a laundry bag slung over his shoulder. He was sunshine against the cloudy skies, and he lit like the dawn when he saw the manicure kit spread out on the coffee table.

“Ohmigod, Iggy! Did you paint Noct’s nails?? Can you do mine, too?!”

At first, he wasn’t sure if Noct was asleep or not – but the answer came as his prince grinned like the devil himself, cheek pressing into his chest. Beneath the blankets, Ignis pinched the back of Noct’s thigh.

“Of course I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and thanks to everyone who helped me proof and beta. Special thanks go to Alex W., Stevie, Ulan, Ostelan, TropicalHalo, and ElizabeththeAngel for encouraging me, as well as the rest of lovely folks on the Chocobros server.


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